


The Gunslinger's Protector

by coruscantspark



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It of Sorts, but then we fix it, description of death, relationships are implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26143549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coruscantspark/pseuds/coruscantspark
Summary: Clayton Sharpe was destined for so much more. Matthew is sure of it and he's got an idea of how to straighten all of this mess out. It doesn't end up being the way he expected.
Relationships: Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe, Miriam Landisman/Arabella Whitlock, Reverend Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	The Gunslinger's Protector

**Author's Note:**

> So we have here what was meant to be a fluffy resurrection fic. But I seem to be incapable of that so have some sadness, with a side of sad, and a little bit of tenderness for dessert. Expect inaccuracies because I don't remember details of how the entire thing went down, cause I pretend the last 10 minutes or so of Undeadwood didn't happen. As you do.
> 
> Please mind the tags, and have a tissue prepared!

He felt the pain, for just a moment, spreading through his abdomen and taking over the rest of his senses. By the time he hit the ground, numbness had set in. 

_This couldn’t be it_. 

_You’ve been shot before Sharpe, pull yourself together. Why can’t I--_

He closes his eyes, ashamed of the sudden fear of the darkness closing in, above the pounding of precious blood in his ears he hears the ladies screaming, boots scuffling in the dirt. He coughs from the dust and chokes on the blood that fills his throat, eyes opening. 

His head lifts just high enough and he gasps a breath, eyes darting wildly. His upper body is now cradled on a pile of fabrics and someone has taken his hat. Gentle hands stroke his forehead. He can just make out dark hair haloed against the sun.

“Clayton you just stay still, now. Just stay still. We’ve got you now. It’s alright. Just hold on. Arabella!” 

_Miriam_

He wills an arm to move and his traitorous body finally responds. A shaking hand grabs weakly at Miriam’s hand and he hears a gasping sob come from the woman as she holds on tightly for him. 

_I’m just fine Miriam, stop your fussing._

He grunts as a sudden pain comes from farther down his body. Small hands are probing at his abdomen and a flash of red hair and a worry-paled face as Arabella desperately tries to find a way to fix him. He shakes his head. Or tries. It’s so hard to move, to think. 

_It was always gonna end this way, right? You tricked yourself Sharpe._

He just wants them to stop crying. He ain’t worth the water. Another scuffle of boots and a body hits the ground beside him. His free hand is dwarfed in two strong hands. 

_Matthew, no, don't you cry too. You shouldn’t even be here. Don’t sully your good name with mine._

His hand lifts up and Clayton feels a prayer whispered against his fingers.

_Don’t you bother Him none. We gave up on each other a long time ago._

He opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing and feels his own tears streaking through the dirt on his face. The pain is coming back now, like fire crawling up his body. His voice sounds like the scraping of gravel, just above a whisper.

“S’okay. Don’t worry about me,” he says haltingly. Why can’t he catch his breath? “I’m gonna be fine, always have been. Don’t go wasting tears on me. I’ll get out of your way soon.”

He struggles the last of the words out and sucks in air, trying to catch a breath. Arabella’s hands stop fluttering around the wound and moves instead to wipe the blood off his face with shaking hands. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears and she smiles at him sadly. Understanding. 

“You take your time then, Mr. Sharpe. Don’t hurry on our account. We’ve --” her voice catches and continues shakily, “we’ve got all the time in the world now. No need to move on too quickly.”

He feels Miriam shaking beneath and behind him, feels her tears falling on his head.

“You just rest now Clayton. Don’t you worry about a thing,” Miriam’s voice soothes his soul in a way he didn’t know he needed. Even laced with tears, he feels himself still at the sound of her washing over him. He weakly squeezes her hand, heart wrenching again when her breath catches in a muffled sob behind her glove. 

“I ain't’ giving up yet, just taking a nap,” Clayton’s voice is even weaker than before. _This isn’t giving up, you hear me! I just need to stop hurting. I just need...to make sure they’re safe._

The Reverend hasn’t stopped praying. Clayton pulls weakly on their joined hands. 

“Reverend. Mason.” The bigger man is shaking now, their hands pressed to his forehead, his entire body bowed over him. “ _Matthew_ ,” finally big brown eyes meet blue, tears filling but yet to fall. “You gotta tell Ally,” he stops and focuses on breathing. “Tell him there ain’t nothing to forgive.” His vision starts to tunnel for a moment and he anchors himself in the kind eyes staring at him. “I’ll tell him myself --” he tries to gather the thought he was trying to say but loses it and his eyes swoop shut for a moment. “You’re a good man Matthew. The poster --” He trails off again, eyes closing, “burned ‘em all. Safe now.” 

His voice grows weaker and softer and trails off, the image of Matthew burned into his mind as he lets out a final breath.

The three people sitting vigil hold their breath, but the man’s chest doesn’t rise again. The hands grow limp. Miriam lets out a broken cry clutching his hand to her heart and Matthew collapses forward burying his head in Clayton’s chest. Arabella stares forward before stumbling to her feet and backward. She whirls around glaring icicles at the onlookers staring in shock at the events of the day.

Her voice is low but carries in the still air of Deadwood. “Go. Away.” The stunned residents stare again and start to shuffle backward as she shakes in fury and screams, “GO HOME! GO AWAY!” She starts stomping towards them but is stopped by Sheriff Bulloch.

“Hold on there, Mrs. Whitlock,” she fights against him before the fury leaves her just as quickly as it had came and his hold is the only thing keeping her up. “Come on now ma’am. We need to get him off the street.”

Arabella straightens slowly, spine turning into iron, voice flat and void of emotion. “Yes, lets take him to the church. Plenty of room there and it isn’t tainted with the memory of that creature.”

She shakes off his hands and marches towards the tableau of grief still in the middle of the road. She places a hand on both of her friend’s shoulders. She takes a deep breath and gentles her voice.

“Miriam? We need to get him off the street.” Miriam looks up at her with swollen eyes and takes the offered hand. She gently places Clayton’s hand on his chest and stands shakily. Arabella loops the other woman’s arm through hers and turns to the other man still kneeling beside the body. She looks over at the Sheriff who is standing a respectful distance away pretending not to watch, and sighs once more. “Reverend, please we need your help carrying him to the church.” 

Mason stirs at that, tears still apparent on his face. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Clayton but says, “The church?” His voice was rough with emotion. 

“He’ll be safe there until we can get a plan together.”

Matthew nods absently. Carefully he folds Clayton’s hands on his chest and closes the man’s coat to cover up the wound. He shrugs off the duster that Clayton had bought him and lays it down on the ground. Shifting his bulk to a crouch and he reaches out and pauses. This was actually happening.

_Lord, I know it’s your will and all, but how on earth is this your plan?_

Carefully, he reaches for Clayton to place him onto his coat. The weight eases as another set of hands join his. Sheriff Bulloch nods respectfully and helps him gather Clayton inside of the coat and stand up. Matthew tucks the smaller man close to his chest, and turns and walks towards the church in a daze. He briefly registers footsteps behind him.

Kicking the door open, he stalks down the aisle to the altar and gently places the body down. He pauses, staring at the face of a man he barely knew, but the ache in his chest felt like he’d lost the most important person in the world. 

The door clicks shut behind him and he turns and sees the two ladies standing at the back of the church, arms linked, swollen, red eyes trying to look everywhere but the man lying at the other end of the aisle. He forces his feet to move. Heavy footfalls that echo off the shabby walls match the pounding headache he is just now noticing. He opens his arms wide and gathers both of them close, holding steady for their shaking forms. Just behind them stands the Sheriff, hat bunched in his hands, rocking back and forth and looking around uncomfortably. Bulloch catches his eye and takes a step forward.

“You folks be alright?” he pauses. “For tonight? You’re still welcome to rooms at the hotel.”

Matthew clears his throat. “We’ll be fine, Sheriff. Thank you."

The other man nods, hesitates a second before sighing and jamming the hat back on his head. 

“You know where to find me if you need me.”

He spins around and quietly walks out the door.

Matthew turns his attention to the two women. The shaking has calmed now, their tight grip on his shirt hasn’t. Softly he starts to hum.

_When peace like a river_

_Attendeth my way_

_When sorrows like sea billows roll_

_Whatever my lot_

_Thou hast taught me to say_

_It is well, it is well with my soul_

His baritone hum trails off and in the stillness he grits his teeth.

_Lord, the sorrow is here, but I am not sure I can say that it is well with my soul. The events of the last few days have left me shaken, but I still--_

He looks to the ceiling, trying to keep the tears from falling again.

 _Lord I still trust you. And I trust in your miracles. You carried us all this far, please just --_ He sniffs and loses the battle with the tears. _\--just one more miracle. Please._

A small hand wipes a tear from his cheek and he opens his eyes. Miriam’s kind face looks at him intently but only says, “You have a lovely voice, Reverend.”

He huffs out a laugh and releases both of them. 

“I don’t know about that but thank you all the same.”

“So what now?” Arabella’s voice was low.

Matthew scratches the back of his neck absently.

“Well, I can walk y’all back to your respective homes,” he trails off at their twin looks of disgust. “Or you can share the bedroom upstairs. I’ll stay down here. Make sure no critters get in.”

The two share a look and nod moving towards the stairs. 

He calls out after them, “Take those stairs real careful-like. They haven't collapsed yet, but I don’t want to tempt fate.”

_Not today at least._

He waits to make sure they get upstairs and the footsteps settle down above him. The floor will hold, surely. Letting his shoulders slump, he moves forward to the altar once more and kneels beside the still body. 

_Lord, forgive me…_

Carefully, he lays his weapons down on the ground beside them, pointing away from him and Clayton. He reaches for his collar and carefully removes it and places it with the weapons. His hat joins the pile. Taking a deep breath he looks over at Clayton, memories of the last few days washing over him. His mouth turns up in the slightest ghost of a smile remembering the rare smile that crossed the other man’s face. He leans down, forehead pressed against forehead and his whisper carries across the room.

“Whatever it takes.”

He stands and strides outside the church. He sits in the moonlight and closes his eyes.

_Alright then. You have my attention. I’m not the smartest man around but I know by now you ain’t my Saviour so we’re gonna do this out here. What do you want?_

The cicadas hum is the only thing that fills his ears.

_I got all night. All day too if I can keep the ladies from bothering us. We’ll just sit here until we come to an arrangement, you and me._

The brush of wind blows his hair off of his forehead.

_Believe you me, you don’t want me still out here when the girls come back down, cause then you’ll have to deal with them. And trust me son, that ain’t a fight you wanna pick._

He waits. The back of his neck grows cold and he sits up a little straighter.

**_Son? Tell me you didn’t just call me that._ **

_Well now, pleasantries were getting me nowhere. I figured either the threat of facing the wrath of two of the toughest women this side of the Mississippi or good ole fashioned name calling might work._

Matthew opens his eyes and is surrounded by endless darkness. The only light visible is emmenating off of the faceless being sitting behind a table. They wave their hand and suddenly a lamp and deck of cards sit on the table. The shadows grow long as the lamp becomes the only source of light. Hands form and start shuffling the cards.

**_You wanted an audience? You’ve got it. What do you want?_ **

_I want him back._

The shuffling pauses as a horrifying laugh sends chills up Mason’s spine. A hand snaps and a chair forms in front of the table. Matthew slowly moves forward and perches on the edge. The shuffling resumes.

**_I give you and your friends the smallest amount of power and now you demand this? You mortals are so amusing. Tell me Reverend Mason, just how powerful do you think I am? I must admit, your staunch belief in who I wasn’t amused me but what makes you so sure I am capable of restoring life? Especially to someone whose soul is so delicious?_ **

_Because he deserves more. He deserves life, we could have helped him. We...we made him smile._

**_Interesting, to be sure._ **

A pale hand waves and in the darkness another spot of light appears. A similar set up to the one before him, except the man in the chair is dwarfed in a familiar duster, blood is pooling under the chair. The other man is holding the coat around him like a blanket with one hand, but gesticulating wildly with the other hand. A separate being sits at the desk shuffling cards similarly to the one in front of Matthew. 

Matthew’s breath catches in his throat and he half stands before he even realizes he was moving. The being in front of him cocks his head for a moment. 

**_He seems just as adamant about his return to his mortal husk. His reasoning being…_ **

He trails off, listening again.

**_Protection. He seeks to protect you. He seeks to protect the land. He says he had plans for the citizens of Deadwood new and old. We hear his thoughts. He provides a compelling argument if in fact brought to fruition. Tell me Reverend: what would you offer?_ **

Matthew blinks and sits back in the chair. Mind whirling, he tries to think of something he can offer that is good enough to convince this being to release Clayton. He thinks of his past, his redemption, his second chance and how he aches to offer that to everyone in some form or fashion.

**_Interesting_ **

He barely hears the interruption as he reflects on how the last week has shook him to his core, how his circle of protection has extended to four, yes even Aly, people beyond himself. How belonging to a cause means something again. To support and uplift, that’s his calling. 

**_Interesting, indeed._ **

This time he looks up startled. The being sits still, waiting. Matthew runs a hand over his face, suddenly tired. He sighs, brushing hair back off his forehead and his hand comes to rest at the back of his neck. The other hand shrugs.

_I don’t have anything to offer but myself._

**_And how much of yourself are you willing to give?_ **

A certainty rushes over Matthew as he turns to look at the other man wrapped in his coat. The one he’d bought for Matthew.

_All of me._

**_Very well._ **

The image Matthew had trained his eyes on shifts, the other being disappearing along with the table and lamp. A single card flutters to the floor as Clayton steps forward, confused. Clayton picks it up and upon looking at it whirls around searching. Their eyes meet and Matthew manages a small smile. Clayton starts to move towards him calling out his name. Matthew watches as the wound closes and Clayton disappears into a mist midstep. Dropping his head, he breathes for a moment, relishing what he assumes will be the last breaths he gets.

_He’s safe now. He’ll make sure everyone is taken care of._

**_And so will you._ **

Matthew’s head pops up so fast it hurts. He’d forgotten the being was there.

_Me? We switched spots though._

**_No my good Reverend, your fates are entwined now. You will be his helpmate, keep him safe, “uplift and support” I believe you called it._ **

The being pauses before sighing at Matthew’s obvious confusion..

 **_Even in his half-formed thoughts, his plans for this land and its people benefit everyone and deeply hurt those who seek to destroy what we’ve built here. But he cannot do it alone. The two of you will fix this land, keep it and its people safe. Your destinies lie together now. What affects one affects the other. I believe your so-called Good Book says it this way, “_ ** **_Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.”? Guard him well, and you will live a long and fruitful life. Fail him and both of you are doomed._ **

The being’s hand reaches for his shoulder. Matthew can feel a dizziness start to take over him, hissing at the burn of the being’s touch.

**_Do not fail. And do not reach for my help again. You’ve used all your boons._ **

Matthew's eyes snap open and he stumbles to his feet. He spins around, never so happy to see the shabby buildings of Deadwood. Absently rubbing at his still burning shoulder he looks to the moon, its risen some since he first came out here to try something stupid. He freezes, remembering, and sprints into the church banging the door open. Clayton is still lying at the front of the altar. Matthew carefully walks up to him, crouching beside the man. Not daring to breath, he reaches out with a shaking hand and checks for a pulse. So faint he might have imagined it, he feels a flutter under his fingers. He slips his hands on either side of the man’s face, running gentle fingers over his cheekbones. 

“Clayton?”

At the whispering of his name, Clayton’s eyelids twitch and he groans in pain. Matthew releases him and unwraps his duster from the now-breathing man. The wound is still there.

“You stay put now Sharpe and I mean it.”

Matthew rummages through his pack and finds some bandages. He could wake Arabella but he didn’t have an explanation yet to give her. Returning to Clayton, he relies on muscle memory from the war to treat a wound. As he finishes he notices that Clayton's eyes are open again. The blue catches him for far too long before he breaks free and looks back down at his handiwork.

“Should hold for now. Least until Arabella can get her hands on you.” Matthew scratches at the back of his neck sheepishly. 

Clayton’s eyes follow the other man’s hand and his brow furrows in more confusion. “Where’d your collar go?”

Matthew points absently at the pile of things he’d discarded before helping the man sit up. “I had some not reverend-like business to attend to.”

He looks up to see Clayton glaring at him and his eyes widen in confusion. “Yeah speakin of which, the hell were you thinking? Riskin all that on me?”

Matthew looks down at his hands and sighs. “I already had my second chance. You were just startin yours.”

Clayton’s eyes are glittering with unshed tears when Matthew dares to look back up. The wounded man reaches out a hand and Matthew takes it. An understanding passes between them in the quiet of the night. 

Clayton squints at Matthew's open collar. He lets go of the other man’s hand and gently moves the unbuttoned collar over to the side revealing more skin and flushing at the sharp intake of breath from Matthew.

“What’s that on your chest?”

Red-faced, Matthew cranes his head down and goes slightly cross eyed looking down at his own chest. Sure enough there was a mark just under his collarbone. 

“It looks like a spade?” Clayton’s voice, barely above a whisper, trails off as his finger traces over the mark. When Matthew shivers at the touch, he pulls his hand back as though burned.

Matthew’s voice is equally soft. “That...thing touched me just before I came to. I think it's a mark of my agreement.”

Clayton looks at him curiously but they’re both startled by the wind slamming the still open door of the church shut. The light of a lantern being lit glows from the top of the staircase as the sound of feet hitting the floor can be heard. 

Matthew retreats to his pile of belongings and quickly buttons back up and had just redressed his collar when stockinged feet and petticoats followed by the business end of a rifle come into view, descending the stairs. 

“Reverend Mason? Everything alright down here?” Miriam’s voice is sharp and Matthew is quick to reassure.

“We’re perfectly fine, better than fine actually. No need for a gun.” He laughs a little, suddenly feeling like the world had lifted off of his shoulders.

Miriam reaches the ground, avoiding a hole in the bottom step. She looks around and with a small cry, fumbles the rifles momentarily at the sight of Clayton sitting up and looking at her with a small smile playing at his lips. Hands shaking, she carefully places the rifle on the ground before running to the man and reaching out a hand to his face looking into his eyes. “How?” 

Clayton leans briefly into her touch before shaking his head. “We’ll explain later.”

A sharp sob comes from the stairs and they turn to see Arabella, hands clasped to her chest staring at them all. She slowly walks over, giving Clayton a wide berth and looks to Matthew, trembling a little. 

“This,” she swallows hard. “This isn’t like with Cynthia, right?”

Matthew shakes his head and reaches out for her shoulders to steady her. “I have it on good authority that this is our Mr. Sharpe.”

She looks at him curiously and he gives her a wide-eyed look of innocence and nods towards Clayton. She moves closer and tentatively picks up his hand. “How are you back? We--” The tears she’s held back all day finally fall. “We watched you die. You stopped breathing.” She manages to say amongst hiccuping sobs. 

Gently, Clayton pulls her closer to him and hugs her head to his chest. Focusing on his heartbeat, she eventually calms, Miriam holding her other hand and Matthew rubbing her back. 

Clayton leans down and whispers, “Doesn’t matter how, but I’m back and I’m alright. I had some unfinished business to take care of.”

She nods against him and sits up suddenly, wiping at her face. “You’re still hurt! Who bandaged you?”

“Reverend took care of it, don’t worry.”

Arabella does a careful inspection of the bandaging before nodding approvingly. “I’ll prepare a poultice in the morning to help keep infection away. Good job, Reverend.” Matthew just smiles at her. “You need sleep, Mr. Sharpe. In a proper bed.” She stands up and brushes her hands together. “Reverend, if you could help him up to the bedroom, Miriam and I can move back down here.”

The men look at each other, knowing better than to argue. Miriam and Arabella shepherd them up the stairs, and fuss over getting him properly laid up in bed until the familiar grumpy stare he’d leveled at them in the past starts to appear. One last fluffing of pillows and quick goodnights, and they swish back out the door. Matthew, who’d compacted himself into the corner trying his best to stay out of their way, let out the breath he’d been holding. The two share a laugh. He could see Clayton’s eyes fighting to stay open. Quietly, he moves the lone chair in the room and sets it against the door. Picking up the shotgun he’d brought up with them, he lays it across his knees and leans back, bracing the door shut with his weight and closes his eyes. He hears Clayton take a breath to protest, and opens one eye and pins him with a look. Clayton sighs and shakes his head before settling down to try and sleep. Matthew hears the breathing he’s become attuned to listening for even out and relaxes a bit, settling back against the door again. 

The first night of the rest of a lifetime of nights, he stands as protector for the gunslinger of Deadwood. 


End file.
